


all fools

by cisumox



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Headaches & Migraines, I know this is a trope but I don't know what you'd call it?, M/M, Philadelphia Flyers, Pining, Slow(ish) Burn, friends(ish) to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24032692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cisumox/pseuds/cisumox
Summary: It’d be dumb not to test the theory.Well, it’d also be dumbtotest the theory that Travis Konecny somehow magically cures his migraines, but like – he can’t just not. No amount of self-inflicted embarrassment actually stacks up against writhing in pain from his nervous system turning against itself.And, god, if it turns out he’s right and not just hallucinating some majestic mirage in his hell desert of a brain, then what?
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 66
Kudos: 294





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm new here – sort of. I've been lurking in hockey fandom for, eh, around 6 years? I've spent a lot of time loving everything that everyone writes, and I figured: what better time than a pandemic to start giving back to the fandom community? 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! It's currently about half-written, but should come out to around 7 chapters. A few disclaimers: this story has nothing to do with real people's lives, everything I know about migraines was derived from the internet, and I don't think I've ever actually had Czech food. Keep an eye on the POVs, because it'll switch by chapter. I've also changed a few details about what we do know (Nolan living with Kevin Hayes, the actual game schedule, etc) to suit the narrative, sry not sry. If you see something egregiously wrong, do let me know – I'm still learning the ropes here! 
> 
> Title quote in its entirety is: "We are all fools in love" which, as commonly known as it is, was only ever said in the movie and not the book _Pride and Prejudice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nolan POV

Lying here in the dark, curtains drawn against the mid-afternoon sun, Nolan can’t help but replay in his head over and over the memory of lying here in this exact same bed 8 years ago, looking up at this same ceiling, feeling this same pain. 

He’d known even then that this was worse than the broken bruised ribs and broken collarbones that he was already pretty familiar with. This pain was all-encompassing. There was no amount of PT or diligence that was going to fix this – and try telling that to a 12-year-old who’d had work ethic drilled into him from infancy. 

When the pain got to be too much, he’d lie in this bed and try not to think about how his mom had told him he’d have to pull out of the bantam draft if this didn’t go away. That his health was more important than hockey, and the other, unspoken side of that: he wouldn’t be any good for any team if he was hiding in the dark all day. 

It loops over and over, the memory of trying not to sob as the migraines went into their fifth or sixth days, if only because the crying made it hurt worse.

Nolan opens his eyes. Yeah – it’s 2019. It’s seven years later. The migraines went away. He did get picked in the bantam draft, and then the Thrashers, and then the Wheat Kings, and now he’s a Flyer and _why the fuck are they back?_ He’s worked so fucking hard to get here! He made it to the show! If all of this was going to come crashing down on him again, then why the fuck couldn’t it have just ended all then instead of – this. This, actually living his dreams and loving his life, and then feeling all of it get drowned out by the wave of agony in his head.

It’s day five of his seventh migraine relapse of the summer. He’d pretended it wasn’t happening for the first two times. He couldn’t ignore it by the third.

There’s a knock at the door that reverberates around his skull, even as light as it was. His mom enters, turns on the lamp by the door. Nolan hears himself whimper, tugs the blanket up over his face. He hears her lay something down on the table near his bed. Water, maybe. 

“Nol, honey,” she says. “Do you need anything?” 

He has to gather himself for a while before he’s able to will himself to speak. “No, I’m fine. I just need to rest.” 

“Okay.” 

He waits for her to leave, expects to hear the snick of the door, but when he uncovers his eyes, she’s still there. 

“What?” he asks. 

She’s wearing the same face he can remember from that memory, the one that plays over and over. He looks away. 

“Have you talked to your agent about this yet?” she asks. “Have you called her?” 

Another pause. 

“No. I haven’t.” 

“Your coaches? Anyone?”

“No.” 

“Nolan, your flight back to Philadelphia is in ten days. You need to talk to someone. They think you’re playing again in four weeks.” 

“I am playing again in four weeks.” 

“Nolan.” He looks back at her face. “You need to call your agent.” 

*** 

Beth sets up a meeting with the Flyers’ management for the day after Nolan returns to Philadelphia. She’s already coordinated for Nolan’s medical records to be transferred from the family clinic in Winnipeg he’s gone to ever since was a child to the Flyers’ medical team, and she’s briefed the organization on what’s happening. He’s grateful for that, if he can be grateful for anything. The idea of seeing their faces when they’re told they wasted a first round draft pick on him – he’s glad he wasn’t there for that. 

So all Nolan has to do is get through this goddamn flight. 

He can hear a kid 19 rows back screaming, though, and can feel the air pressure in the cabin as the plane inches higher and higher, and Nolan normally likes kids, but like seriously, _fuck kids,_ who the hell got on a plane with a – 

Nolan takes a breath. 

***

Nolan’s apartment, illuminated in the soft light from the lamp near the doorway, looks the same as the last time he saw it – maybe, actually, a little nicer, since he hasn’t had time to make a mess since the last time the cleaning service came through. It seems a little fucked up, like his whole life in Philadelphia just got to freeze in time while the shit in his head spun out of control back in Winnipeg. 

Whatever. He can bring Philadelphia down with him too. 

The nice thing about the meeting being tomorrow instead of today is that Nolan can just take a few painkillers, go wash the plane off his body, and go back to bed. Really nice, actually, that’s exactly what he needs, except – _bzzz._

Except Nolan gave G a heads up that he was coming back to Philly today, and G must have mentioned in the group chat because – _bzzz._

Because Nolan’s phone won’t shut the fuck up. He takes a look at the screen to see the 13 wholes messages that Travis Konecny has sent him since he took his phone off airplane mode. 

And – okay. Travis is fine. He’s a nice guy, and they’re friends, but they’re not 13-texts-in-a-row friends. Nolan would even go as far as to say that if he had to pick 10 other guys on the team to get stranded on a desert island with, Travis would make a solid runner up in spot 11.

Nolan gets why the media has made such a big deal out of their friendship – around the same age, high profile players, the ties that bind every good ol’ Canadian boy together, etc, etc. But no one ever actually, like, asked him before they decided Nolan and Travis were BFFs. 

And Nolan is perfectly at peace with the completely justified prospect of ignoring all 13 messages. The problem being – 

_Knock knock._

The problem being that Travis knows where he lives. You know, twenty feet away from where Travis lives. 

Nolan trudges to the door. Takes a deep, fortifying breath. Slowly creeps the door open in a way he hopes adequately conveys how unwelcome the knocking is. From the smile on Travis’s face, it doesn’t seem to have worked. 

“Hey, bud! I texted, but I’m not sure if you got it?” 

“Yeah, I –” 

“Wow, did you just get home?” Travis asks, ducking under the arm Nolan had blocking the doorway. “It’s so dark in here, let me get the lights.” 

“You don’t need to –” the lights in the kitchen flick on, and Nolan brings a hand up to shield his eyes against the glare. 

“I brought food.” Through squinted eyes, Nolan confirms that Travis did, indeed, bring food, which he’s currently grabbing out of the white take out bags and placing on the island. Oh no. “We’ve got, uh, korma I think? Saag paneer, and I think grabbed a few samosas –” 

“Travis. That’s great, man. Thanks so much. I just don’t know if I’m really up for it?” 

“Oh, do you have plans already? I just figured you’d probably be staying in tonight after the flight. International travel is so annoying, am I right? Like, fuck customs.” 

“Yeah, fuck customs, bud. No, I’m just feeling pretty tired? I’ll probably head to bed soon.” 

“Dude, it’s like 7pm.” 

“Yeah, I’m just not feeling the greatest.” 

“Oh, are you sick? Do you need anything? You’ve been gone all summer, so if you need me to go out and grab something –” 

“Nah, man. It’s fine. Just a headache.” 

“You sure? I can –” 

“It’s fine, Travis.” Nolan can still feel the lights boring holes straight through from his eyes into his brain, and he can only assume a little bit of that is visible on his face because Travis finally relents. 

“Alright, bud. I’ll see you around then. Let me know if you need anything?”

“For sure.” 

After Nolan hears the door click shut behind Travis, he stumbles over to the light switch to shut the overheads back off. He sees the unpacked curries laying on the counter where Travis left them and feels just a little twinge of – not regret. Apology? Just a bit. 

Doesn’t make the korma taste any less good. 

Nolan packs away the leftovers and then goes digging through his suitcase in search of his pain killers. 

It’s only when he’s shaking the pills out into his hand that he realize the 4-pill, jackhammer-in-my-skull migraine he had stumbling off the plane has subsided into a normal, fuck-my-life, 2-pill migraine. 

Well, that’s nice, at least. 

*** 

So, Nolan supposes it was a little too optimistic to think he’d be spared the look just because he wasn’t the one who broke the news. The _how many millions have we wasted on you_ look. The _this isn’t even a real injury_ look. 

“How did we not know about this before now?” Chuck asks. “You’ve had these headaches since you were a kid?” 

This conversation may also be a little easier if _these headaches_ weren’t gnawing at the tethers of his brain stem right now, but. “Yeah. I mean—no. I had them when I was a kid. They went away, though, they weren’t ever a problem when I was playing hockey.” 

“And now?” 

“...Yeah. Now they’re a problem.” 

A brief moment of quiet as the comment settles – Nolan can see the lines of tension sink deeper into Chuck and AV’s faces. Beth snaps open her tablet. The medical expert that the Flyers had brought in clears her throat before speaking up. 

“From what we’ve read in Nolan’s medical records and what we know about this disorder...these migraines he’s having, they’re just as serious as a concussion. Different, but just as severe.” 

This isn’t news to Nolan. 

“And how long does it take to recover from?” AV asks. 

“That’s the thing. This is a disorder, not a trauma,” the doctor adds. “This isn’t something you just recover from.” 

“Jesus.” 

“But there’s a chance the migraines will decrease in severity or in frequency, or even disappear altogether. We’ll want to move his treatment in-house, figure out how we can navigate triggers within the lifestyle of a professional athlete.” 

“These went away last time?” Chuck aims this question at him. “How old were you?” 

“Twelve.” 

“And this is the first time they’ve come back?” 

“First time in maybe eight years, yeah.” 

Chuck settles back in his chair, shares a look with AV before staring back at Nolan. 

“Are you religious, Nolan? If you are, I’d start praying for that same miracle. Second overall….we can’t wait around forever for that to mean anything.” 

“And I think that’s where we end this meeting,” Beth cuts in. Nolan stands up and walks out the door, hands fisted tightly in the pockets of his slacks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nolan POV

Nolan knows the rest of the team knows now. Practice started back up a few days after his meeting with management, and Nolan wasn’t there, so they must have been told something, and probably they were told the truth with a great big DO NOT TALK TO THE MEDIA sticker slapped over it. 

As dumb as they are, no one was stupid enough to bring it up in the groupchat, but he has gotten a few texts from around the lockeroom – G, Carter. 

Not Travis. No uninvited knocks on the door either, which is fine. Except for the fact that Nolan is at, like, a solid 7/10 on the pain scale with an empty bottle of pills from the last time his mom had refilled the prescription in Winnipeg. He needs to drive to pick up his refill here in Philly, but there’s no way he can drive right now with how bad the pain is. Go figure. He feels a little bit like a pack of scissors stuck in a package that requires you to have _another_ pair of scissors to cut them out with. Or something. 

Anyway. Desperate times. 

He pulls out his phone, immediately dims the screen and switches on the blue light filter. 

**Sent**  
hey

He gets a response pretty quickly, which is relieving if for no other reason than he’s very excited at the prospect of being able to think thoughts again sometime soon. 

**Received**  
hey, bud! how are you doing? 

**Sent**  
great, yeah.  
was wondering if you could do me a favor

**Received**  
sure, what? 

Two minutes later, Travis knocks on his door. 

“You sure you don’t want me to go pick it up? Lookin’ kinda rough, bud.” 

“You can’t. Like, legally. I’d send you with my ID but unfortunately I think they’ll notice the missing 6 inches I’ve got on you.” 

“I’ll show you six–” 

“No.” 

“Besides, you’re way off – it’s, like, four inches max.” 

Nolan raises his eyebrows. “Not something I’d brag about, but you do you.” 

“You –”

“You gonna give me a ride?” 

“ _Yeah,_ I’ll give you a–” 

“No.” 

*** 

So Travis takes him to the CVS a ten-minute drive away. Nolan’s still two people back from the front of the line, eyes mostly closed against the harsh fluorescents, but every once in a while he’ll see Travis dart around with something new in his arms. So far: a plastic slinky, a bag of marshmallows, a book of sudoku puzzles. 

The slinky is, from the looks of it, already fucked by the time Nolan meets him back at the front of the store. 

“Hope you got the warranty on that thing,” he says as they walk out back to the truck. 

Travis doesn’t look up from where he’s twisting it around in his hands. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I can fix it.” 

“You absolutely cannot.” 

“I am a man of many talents.” 

“I hope one of those talents is being able to move on when you definitely fail at fixing a slinky.” 

They climb into the cab. Travis starts the engine and pulls out onto the street. It’s quiet for a few minutes, the radio off, the quiet hum of Tuesday night traffic drifting in through the cracked windows. 

Travis clears his throat a little, which is a pretty clear sign that the next thing out of his mouth is gonna be something Nolan doesn’t want to hear.

“So, do you wanna talk about it?” 

“About what?”

“I don’t know, man. Are you okay? Do you know when you’re gonna come back? They honestly didn’t tell us much of anything. Just that you had this disorder and that you’d be out for a while.” 

Nolan sighs. “I mean, to be honest I don’t actually have a lot more information than what you already know.” 

“It’s true then – that you’ll be out for awhile? Like, all of preseason? Or…” 

Nolan doesn’t say anything. 

“Oh.” 

The rest of the ride is mostly silent. Nolan sees Travis’s hand fidget toward the radio a few times, like he has a deeply ingrained instinct to cover up the quiet with noise and is just barely able to fight off the urge. Touching. 

Nolan turns to look at Travis as they wait for the elevator back at their building. “Thanks for the ride, man.” 

“Oh yeah, no problem. Seriously, you need anything, let me know.” 

Nolan nods, noncommittal. 

The elevator dings. They get in, Nolan smashing the button for his floor before slumping into the back corner. It isn’t until they’re a few floors up already that he realizes the button for Travis’s floor isn’t lit up. 

“Forget where you live, bud?” 

“No, I’m coming over.” 

“Sorry, man, I’m really not feeling great,” says Nolan. That was, like, the whole point of this? 

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m coming over. I’m making you hot cocoa.” 

“What.” 

“I swear to god, it helps.” 

“You think drinking hot cocoa is going to cure my migraines?” 

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it, man. This recipe has been passed down for generations. You really wanna slander the spirits of Konecnys past with absolutely no evidence? Seems dangerous.” 

“My options are between believing you and getting haunted by your grandma?” 

“I don’t make the rules.” 

So now it’s Tuesday, at 11:04pm, and Travis Konecny is chopping up dark chocolate by hand in his kitchen. 

“I’m telling you. It really does work. It’s got, like antioxidants and shit in it.” 

“I’m sure the chunks of marshmallow help too. Real underappreciated superfood you’ve got there.” 

Nolan watches as the chocolate is melted and mixed and adorned with tiny marshmallows and a dash of cinnamon that Travis found god knows where in his pantry. 

“There,” Travis says. “Shouldn’t be too hot.” 

Nolan takes a sip against his better judgement. 

“And?” asks Travis. 

“Amazing. I’m healed. Call the GM, they should have me on the roster for tomorrow.” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

“I’m serious. It’s not just physical! I feel cured _deep in my soul_ —” 

Nolan cuts off to bat away the marshmallows Travis is throwing at his face. He opens his mouth and catches the last one. 

“You definitely didn’t deserve homemade Konecny family hot chocolate.” 

“Hey, you invited yourself over.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Travis pops a marshmallow in his mouth. Then he wraps up the rest and sticks it on a shelf at random. Nolan’s pretty sure he’s going to find crusty marshmallows behind boxes of pasta in a few months. “I’m heading out. Get to feeling better, Pat.” 

“Travis,” Nolan calls out before the door closes behind him. Travis ducks his head back in. 

“Yeah?” 

“Please ask your dead grandma not to haunt me.” 

“Not a chance.” 

*** 

The hot cocoa is actually, like, pretty high quality, and Nolan has no qualms about downing the rest of it once Travis is gone. 

It’s pretty fucking late, now, though, and Nolan’s wiped. He brushes his teeth quickly and collapses into bed, dead as soon as he hits the pillow. 

When he wakes up the next morning, migraine back in full force, he remembers the packet of prescription painkillers still laying on his kitchen table unopened. 

*** 

Nolan feels extremely dumb asking the team doctor if there’s a possibility hot chocolate could cure his debilitating, career-ending migraines. The only response he gets is a pair of raised eyebrows and a look of disbelief, which is answer enough he guesses. 

*** 

The rest of the team is off on the first roadtrip of the preseason, hitting up Boston and New York for a back-to-back. He’d watched them let the Islanders take the first game from his living room too—this shouldn’t feel different, but it does. 

Nolan’s too familiar with injuries for the experience as a whole to have any novelty, though. He’s had all these feelings before. The same internal fight of wanting his team to win and lose at the same time. Win, because if they don’t he knows that he can blame himself for not being there. Lose, because otherwise what if they realize they don’t actually need him? 

Same song every time.

At least these are just preseason games. They don’t really matter. 

By the end of the first period the Bruins are up one and Nolan knows he’s not going to see the final score until tomorrow at the earliest. He can see bright lights hovering on the edge of his vision every time he opens his eyes, and a telltale ringing in his ears. 

He doesn’t get an aura before every migraine, but when he does he knows it’s gonna be a real fucking bitch. 

Nolan spends the next 30 hours wrapped in his comforter, black-out curtains pulled tight, stuck in an endless cycle of nausea-sleep-pain. 

He knows at some point his phone must have died, because the semi-regular vibrations that had gone off for the first day or so have stopped. 

He’s straddling the brink of sleep and pain when he hears the door to his bedroom crack open. God, he really doesn’t have it in him to deal with a burglary right now. 

“Hey, you’re in here? Thank god.” Travis walks into the room, leaving the door open behind him. 

Nolan makes a noise that he hopes conveys the rough sentiment of: _? ! ? ? :( :(_

“They said you missed your appointment with the medical staff and hadn’t answered anyone’s calls.” 

Nolan repeats the noise. 

“Yeah, I got your spares from Claude,” he says. “Don’t know why you left them with him, he lives all the in the fucking burbs. Anyway, someone needed to check and make sure you were still alive. You should probably call the med staff back, by the way. Not right now. Right now it’s midnight.” 

Nolan tugs the blanket up further over his face to block out the light coming in from the hallway. He hears the door snick closed a few seconds later. He can make out the sound of Travis’s footsteps across the carpet before he feels a touch at his shoulder. He flinches at the contact, lets out a whimper. 

“Sorry.” He backs off but doesn’t leave the bed. Nolan feels the mattress dip a little as Travis climbs in. 

“I’m gonna stay here, okay? If you need anything, wake me up.” 

Nolan barely registers what he says – he’s already sinking back into unconsciousness. 

*** 

The next time Nolan’s awake, it’s 4:23am. Travis is still sacked out next to him, but he can see an uncracked bottle of water and a power bar lying on the table beside him that definitely weren’t there the last time he was cognizant of his surroundings. His phone’s been plugged in, the notification light glowing softly in the dark room. There’s also a couple of different pain killers – his prescription ones and the over-the-counter ones he takes for less severe attacks. 

The inside of Nolan’s mouth tastes terrible, having not had the chance to brush his teeth since the last time he’d had to rush to the washroom to vomit. He’s fucking starving from what amounted to nearly a day and a half of fasting, but he cannot in good conscience put anything else in his mouth until he can taste something other than death. 

He slowly levers himself up into a sitting position. It must be enough to jostle the bed, because Travis stirs beside him. 

“Hmm, whuzzat?” 

“Nothing, go back to sleep,” Nolan says. 

“Mmkay.” Nolan watches as he snuggles his face back down into the pillow. 

Nolan ambles into the ensuite. When he’s finished with his business, he collapses down onto the rim of the bathtub, buries his face in his hands. 

His migraine is gone. He feels fine. Travis is in his bedroom, drooling into his spare pillow, and his migraines are gone. 

It never happens like this. The come-down from a migraine this bad always takes days, regaining the ability to exist again in gradual increments. He remembers the agony from just a few hours ago – he could barely open his eyes, or think, or stand the friction of the blankets against his skin. 

He feels completely normal. 

He thinks back: the day he got off the plane from Winnipeg, the day he watched Travis chop up chocolate in his kitchen and talk nonsense about vitamins and antioxidants. And now, with Travis knocked out in his bed – it can’t be. That’s ridiculous. 

*** 

It’d be dumb not to test the theory. 

Well, it’d also be dumb _to_ test the theory that Travis Konecny somehow magically cures his migraines, but like – he can’t just not. No amount of self-inflicted embarrassment actually stacks up against writhing in pain from his nervous system turning against itself. 

And, god, if it turns out he’s right and not just hallucinating some majestic mirage in his hell desert of a brain, then what? How long does it last? Could it even be a permanent solution? How long can he go without seeing Travis? Is it even worth it? 

Does he tell Travis about it? 

He’s getting ahead of himself. He doesn’t know shit yet. 

***

Nolan has a rescheduled appointment with the team’s medical staff the next day. 

“Good to see you alive, Nolan,” Dr. Anderson says. She smiles and nods toward the chair in her office. “We were worried about you.” 

Travis wasn’t kidding, then – they really must have sent him a one-man search party. 

“Sorry about that. Not a great week for me.” 

He gets his vitals taken. The doctor walks through screen limitations and other things that he should be restricting as much as possible for the time being. They talk over his diet and exercise for the last few weeks and discuss anything that could have been a trigger. A little bit later, Nolan has a printed list of new things to avoid this week, which basically eliminates any of the take out places within a 10-block radius of his house. Damn. 

He hesitates before opening the door to leave, looks back at Dr. Anderson. 

She lifts her head. “Is there something you need?” 

“Yeah, no, um,” Nolan starts. “Do you have any idea of, like, a timeline on this? Like, how many days do I have to be migraine-free before I can play again?” 

Her face doesn’t go quite pitying, but Nolan can tell that’s because she’s holding it back. “Nolan, try not to think about it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

She pauses for a moment, pivots in the chair so that she’s facing him head-on. “With disorders like these, there’s never any real timeline. We’re going to do our best here to try and find what’s causing the migraines and help you adapt to a lifestyle without those triggers, but I don’t think it’s healthy for you to try and set an arbitrary goal here. Don’t think of it in terms of ‘I need to be better by next month’ or ‘I need to be better by playoffs’. Just keep on doing what your body is telling you to.” 

“Okay, but say this was the last one. How many days before you let me back on the ice?” 

She crosses her arms. “I’m not going to give you a number, Nolan. Not when you’ve walked in here looking like you’ve barely kept food down all week. Now, go home. Get some rest. I’ll see you back here in a couple of days.” 

Nolan nods, and leaves without saying another word. 

*** 

Nolan’s in the backseat of an Uber making his way back from the practice rink tossing his phone from hand to hand. 

Finally, he stills. Thumbs his code in. It’s as good an excuse as any. 

**Sent**  
hey  
do you happen to know how to cook


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TK POV

**received**  
hey  
do you happen to know how to cook 

Travis sees the message from Patty when he unlocks his phone after practice. 

And, okay – Travis knows it’s maybe a bit pathetic that he can feel his heart literally speed up in his chest just from looking down to see Patty’s name on his phone screen, but he’s fairly sure that it has more to do with the fact that he just finished a two-hour workout than it does with anything else. Yeah, definitely. 

It’s just, he’s pretty sure he can count the number of times that Pats has texted him first in the last two years on one hand. They definitely talk and hang out a normal amount for teammates, so it’s not like this is completely out of the blue. Maybe a little less than the normal amount for teammates who live in the same building, but who’s to say? It’s not like Travis has any reason to hold himself up against some, like, arbitrary measurement of his qualities as a – friend. Teammate. 

Anyway. 

**sent**  
I may know my way around an onion  
why do you ask? 

**received**  
met with the team doctor today and it turns out everything on uber eats is off limits now 

**sent**  
have you really been living off of uber eats for the last two years? 

**received**  
well, no, occasionally it’s doordash 

**sent**  
wow  
so what you’re saying is you want my help 

**received**  
I figured it’s not too far out of the way 

So that’s how Travis winds up in Patty’s apartment on a Thursday night, making him dinner. He’s sick, so obviously it would have been an asshole move not to. 

“No offense, dude, but like...how do you know how to cook like this?” 

Travis looks up from where he’s chopping up garlic on Nolan’s clearly unused cutting board. “Well, the truth is...my grandma isn’t actually dead.” 

“You’re telling me I was at zero risk of being haunted all this time?” 

“You deserved it.” 

“Deserved to be haunted?”

“No, just to be played.” 

“I can’t believe I let you in my kitchen again,” Nolan says. “So she taught you how to cook?” 

“Yeah, I guess – me and my brother,” he says. “She and my grandpa actually came to Canada from Czechoslovakia a few years before she had my dad. There was, like, a lot of things they had to give up, learning English and everything else, I guess. But she wanted her kids and grandkids to know how to make the food that she remembered making growing up, so whenever Chase and I were around as kids she’d teach us.” 

“What are you making then?” 

“It’s called česnečka. It’s just a garlic-based soup, but it shouldn’t have anything on your list in it.” 

Patty lets out a little _hmm_. “I’m not gonna lie, man, this doesn’t really fit in with your whole, like, personal brand.” 

“I contain multiples, or whatever.” 

“Yeah, that’s more like it.” 

They talk a little more as Travis finishes up with the soup. When it’s done, he pours most of it into tupperware containers to go into the freezer. 

“Now I went easy on you this time, but next time I’m making you cook with me so you learn some valuable life skills and don’t die on your own,” Travis says. He pours the last of it into a large bowl and pushes it over to wear Nolan’s sitting on the other side of the island. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Patty says, then brings the first spoonful to his mouth. “Oh _my god_.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Oh my god, Travis.” 

He chuckles. “I’m glad you like it. I’m gonna get outta your hair, but there’s a few more meals’ worth of it here that you can freeze for later if you want.” 

Travis walks over to the door to kick on his shoes, but stops when he hears, “Wait!” 

He turns around. Patty looks a little panicked, which is weird. 

“You, uhh, you made all this. There’s plenty enough for you too, obviously. You should stay.” 

“I thought you weren’t feeling great after this week, so I was just gonna make enough for you to have for a few days. It’s no big, really.” 

“Actually, I’m feeling pretty okay right now. C’mon, stay for a bit? We can watch something.” 

Travis takes his hand off the doorknob and kicks his shoes back off onto the mat. Okay then. Play it cool. “Zombies?” 

“Uh, yeah – sure, man.” 

*** 

“Bro, I’m not sure this is actually a zombie movie,” Travis hears Patty say. 

“Of course it is,” he counters. “It’s literally in the title: Pride and Prejudice _and Zombies_.” 

“If you’re sure.” 

Fifteen minutes in, Travis isn’t sure he _is_ sure, but he’s committed now. Elizabeth is badass. 

“Would you kill me if you found out I’d been bitten by zombies?” Travis asks. 

“Obviously.” 

“Even if I was a hot kinda rich ninja chick? You wouldn’t even hesitate?”

“I’m hardly hesitating now.” 

*** 

It happens more often after that – Patty texting him first, Patty inviting him over to cook or play video games or whatever. 

And – okay. He knows that Nolan’s a little bit of a bitch just in general. Travis gets that he’s probably not Patty’s favorite person in the world. Like, he’s not completely oblivious here. He’s played two seasons with the guy and can only remember hanging out together outside of group settings a couple of times.

But Patty has definitely been treating him differently this season. He doesn’t know what’s changed. Maybe he feels bad about the night that TK came over after that game? Like he’s ashamed that someone saw him like that and wants to make it up to him? 

Mostly, Travis doesn’t know if this is permanent or if it’s some weird Patty thing that he can’t understand. And that kinda sucks, because Travis really isn’t up for playing along with all this if it’s not permanent. 

It’s just – Travis has been kinda fucked up over him for just about a whole two years now. 

The first day Patty walked into the Flyers’ locker room it was like he was already holding the whole weight of being Nolan Patrick, Hockey Savior of Philadelphia on his shoulders. You could see it in the scrunchy little lines between his eyes, the way his face looked when the coaches walked into the room, how he interacted with the older players. 

It was like he carried a torch in that lit the whole room up. And like a dumb fuzzy moth chasing a flame, Travis couldn’t actually bring himself to look away. 

So he saw other things: how softly Patty talks when little kids come up to him at signings, how he actually knows all of the ice crew folks by name, how he complains about everything but doesn’t talk shit on anyone. 

And also...how his tights look like they’re hanging on for dear life wrapped around his ass and thighs, how the light hair on his stomach darkens as it leads downward when his shirt rides up on the bench press, how he has this one game day suit that Travis loves because it somehow makes Patty’s eyes the exact same shade of green as the woods Travis grew up in back in Clachan. 

What Travis is saying is he’s soft as hell, and he’s lowkey surprised the Flyers’ marketing team hasn’t had some Serious Words with him about throwing his feelings all over the place, because he knows that the media’s whole obsession with their supposed bromance is 100% his fault. 

Travis feels like he’s been generally pretty respectful of Boundaries™ so far. Or at least he’s tried. 

But this whole thing where it seems like Patty is finally picking up what he’s putting down? Travis isn’t sure how to take it. 

*** 

It’s a few weeks later, and the Flyers are just back from a 3-game round trip down in the south. 

Nolan’s up in Travis’s apartment, flipping through Netflix for something new to watch, but it’s taking him a while to find anything. From what Travis can tell about Nolan’s life when he’s not hanging out with Travis, it’s basically this: whatever physical activity the doctors have cleared him for, check ups with said doctors, and working his way through the entire Netflix catalog whenever he can bring himself to look at a screen. 

It occurs to Travis to wonder what he’s still doing in Philly. If he was at home he’d at least have his family to be around and take care of him. 

“Have you thought about going back to Winnipeg for a while?” Travis asks. 

“Hmm?” Patty doesn’t look over at him, eyes still scanning the TV as movie titles flash by. 

“Wouldn’t it be easier, you know? To just ride this out at home?” 

“I can’t. Like, contractually.” He drops the remote, looks over at Travis to say, “I’m still a Flyer, you know.” 

“No! No, I know that. I didn’t mean it like that. Just, I figured you’d want to be around your family right now?” 

“Maybe. But, like, I’m meeting with the doctors or still going to the rink for workouts most days anyway. Might as well stay, you know.” Patty’s looking away again, a little cagey. Maybe he’s been trying to leave and they wouldn’t let him. “Besides, it’s not like it helped last time.” 

“When you were a kid?” 

“Yeah.” 

Travis doesn’t think he’s heard Nolan talk much about his childhood. He’s not sure how much he’ll get to hear about it in this conversation, but he wants to ask anyway. “What was it like? The migraines you got when you were a kid.” 

“Uh, not as bad, mostly? Not until around the time I broke my clavicle anyway. That fucking sucked.” 

“Damn. You were what, 12 or 13? How did you even recover from that?” 

Nolan goes quiet. 

Travis backpedals. “I don’t mean to bring up bad memories or anything—”

“No, no, it’s okay, it’s just – you’re basically right. My mom was about to pull me out of hockey. For a while before they went away, it got really bad, and, like – yeah. I thought it was over.”

Nolan closes his eyes, raises his hand to catch his fingers in his hair. “I was so fucking scared, and it had nothing to do with how much pain I was in, you know. Like, I almost didn’t have this.” 

_And now it’s happening again,_ Travis thinks. The moment lingers, quiet for a moment. 

Travis breaks it. “Well, you know, I’m here. If you need anything.” 

Patty grabs the remote again, starts thumbing back through titles of movies he’s already gone through twice. Travis’s eyes catch on one. “Wait! That.” 

“What?” 

“Go back a few, no—” Travis gives up and steals the remote. “Here,” he says as he lands on it. 

“Pride and Prejudice? Didn’t we already watch this?” 

“No, we watched the zombie one.” 

“Same difference.” 

“This is the original! We’ve gotta watch it – for, like, the integrity or whatever. It’s like skipping Infinity War and going straight to Endgame. 

“It’s definitely nothing like that.” 

“But –”

“Okay, okay, we can watch it.” 

Travis smiles.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TK POV

It’s late November, just before American Thanksgiving, and the gym at the practice rink is pretty quiet – Travis figures most of the American guys probably have family in town for Thursday and are busy frying turkeys or whatever. 

So there are just a few other guys around besides Nolan and Travis. This isn’t the first time he and Patty have worked out together since his whole migraine thing started, but it’s definitely been picking up in frequency. Travis thinks he can see the progress: the way Patty’s strides are surer as he picks up the pace on the treadmill, the weight he’s started adding back onto what he’s lifting, how long he can keep going under the bright fluorescent lights in the cardio room. 

He’s noticed Nolan around more often at the rink in general, too. He used to just catch him once or twice a week, usually when TK was getting out of practice and Patty was probably making his way back from meeting with the medical staff or the nutritionists. 

He brings it up when they’re both back in the locker room, changing into their day clothes. 

“You seem to be getting better,” Travis says. 

“Yeah, uh, thanks – I mean –” Nolan breaks off. 

Travis laughs. “Why are you thanking me? You’re the one putting in all the hard work.” 

He sees Nolan look down at the floor. Eventually, he says, “Yeah, I actually – I think it is getting better.” 

“What’s the doctor saying?” 

“They’re letting me work out more, cutting back on some of the diet stuff, which is nice,” he says. “Apparently I’m supposed to be, like, ‘journaling’ my progress, or some shit.” 

“It sounds like you’re coming back soon then?”

Nolan looks back up at him. “As soon as I can.” 

*** 

Nolan still isn’t driving much, so Travis gives him a ride back to their building. 

As they merge onto the freeway, Travis asks, “Hey, are you going to G’s thing on Thursday?” 

“Oh, you mean the Fakesgiving?” Every year on American Thanksgiving, Claude throws a little get together for all the international guys. “I hadn’t thought much about it.” 

Come to think, while he’d seen Patty a bunch recently he can’t actually remember him being at any of the team stuff. 

“You should come! It’ll be lowkey, and you’re feeling better anyway, yeah?” Travis says. “Besides, like you said – it’s not like you’re not a Flyer right now.” 

Patty looks over at him like he’s surprised Travis remembers what he said all those weeks ago. 

“Yeah, I’ll think about it. 

*** 

On Thursday, Travis drives them both over to Claude’s big white-picket-fence house out in the suburbs. He makes fun, but Travis is pretty damn excited to hold the baby. 

As soon as the door opens, three different people yell “Patty!” 

“Yeah, nice to see you all, too,” Travis says, completely ignored. 

“Oh my god,” Carter says. He reels Patty in with one hand and slaps his back. “It’s been like twelve years! I can’t believe you’re finally back from the dead.” 

He hears Sanny shout from the other room, “Patty’s back?!” 

Patty laughs, a little awkwardly. “Guys, I’m not actually back yet.” 

“Still, we haven’t seen you in months!” Travis watches as Nolan is dragged into the kitchen to say hi to the rest of the guys. 

Huh. Travis has seen so much of Patty in the last couple months that he just assumed that he’d been keeping up with the rest of the guys too. Is it just him? He guesses that he’s been seeing quite a bit of Patty when he’s not on the road or at the rink. It makes sense, then, that Patty would be seeing quite a bit less of other people. 

Travis smiles to himself. He doesn’t know why Nolan decided to trust him with this migraine stuff, but he’s glad he can be there for him. 

Travis goes into the kitchen to join the rest of the guys, sets down the hot dish he brought on the big wooden table with all the others. 

He taps Patty’s arm. “Hey,” he says. “I made sure to bring something you could eat if you can’t find anything else here.” 

Nolan looks up, surprised, and smiles at Travis. “Thanks.” 

Travis has all this warmness inside him now and nothing to do with it, so he figures it’s as good a time as any to go steal baby Gavin from whoever’s holding him.

*** 

“I wanna get drunk,” Patty says. He’s lying on Travis’s couch, fucking around with a candy cane that he pulled off of Travis’s christmas tree. Travis doesn’t think he’s going to unwrap it. Doesn’t think he’s going to put it back on the Christmas tree either. More than likely, he’ll find it buried in the couch cushions in a few months when he’s trying to find the remote. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, bud?” Travis asks. 

“I haven’t had a drink in literally _six months,_ Travis.” 

“...Fair. But still.” 

Patty sighs. “I haven’t had a migraine in three weeks. I’m training and skating now, and that’s great, but I haven’t played a game since last April, and I haven’t had a drink in six months, haven’t gotten laid in just as long, and I am so _tired_ of not doing what I want.” 

Well, alright then. 

“Okay, but I’m gonna cut you off if you start looking all pinchy.” 

_“Pinchy?”_

“Yes.” 

*** 

They’re out on Travis’s balcony, overlooking the Philadelphia skyline lit up in the winter night. Travis turned up the dial on his patio heater to counter the encroaching chill. 

There’s an open bottle of whiskey between them, but Travis stopped drinking a little while ago – he figured one of them should at least be a little bit sober if it turns out that Patty can’t handle the alcohol after all. 

Well, Patty _definitely_ can’t handle alcohol right now, but Travis guesses that has a lot more to do with the fact that he hasn’t had a drink in half a year than anything else. 

Nolan won’t stop giggling beside him. The last three times Travis has caught Patty looking at him, Nolan just cracks up. 

One of the streetlights flickers below them. Nolan finally gets it together enough to form actual words. 

“God, I fuckin’ love Philly.” 

Travis knocks his shoulder into Patty’s. “You ever think about if the draft went differently?” 

“I mean, yeah…like, I’m not gonna say there wasn’t a hot minute there where I thought I was going to Jersey. But I’m glad I’m here.” 

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” Travis says. Maybe a little too honest. 

“I’m so lucky I get to be here with you,” Nolan continues. “You don’t even understand, Travis, fuck.” He’s still smiling, maybe a little manic with the whiskey has washed over his senses. 

And now Travis feels dumb for holding back, because he’s definitely just a few more shots away from grabbing Nolan by the waist and pulling him into his lap, biting at those lips Patty keeps licking every few seconds in the cold Philadelphia air. As it stands, he kinda feels like he’s watching something he’s not supposed to be seeing, like if Nolan were sober or knew Travis wasn’t he wouldn’t be saying any of this at all. 

“Trust me, bud, I know.” 

Nolan laughs. “No! No, fuck, no – you have no idea how much you do for me.” Nolan turns away, still laughing into the dark. 

It’s probably time to call it a night. “I think it’s getting pretty late,” he says. 

“Mmm, yeah.” Nolan lolls his head against Travis.

“Probably a little warmer inside, bud.” Travis stands up, offers a hand down to help Nolan up. 

When Nolan doesn’t let go, he holds on tigheter. 

It makes sense to walk Nolan back down to his apartment, make sure he has advil and water set out in case he wakes up with a hangover, make sure he doesn’t fall asleep on his back. That’s what a good friend would do. Travis grabs his keys and lets Nolan tug him down the hall and into the elevator, then down again to his apartment. 

Travis grabs him a bottle of water from the fridge and wrestles the everyday painkillers from his bathroom cabinet. When he’s done, he walks into Nolan’s room to find him stomach-down, still in clothes and shoes. 

“That’s not gonna be fun to wake up in, bud,” he says. When Nolan doesn’t react, Travis shakes his shoulder. 

Nolan grunts, but flips over. 

“At least let me help if you’re not gonna take them off yourself.” 

Nolan nods. Travis bends down to untie both of his shoes and pulls them off his feet. Then, he motions for Nolan to lift up his hips, grabbing his pants by the belt loops and pulls them slowly down. 

“You good?” Travis asks. Nolan hums his assent. “Good.” 

He bends down again, breaks the rules a little bit: runs a hand through Nolan’s hair before pulling away. “I’m gonna head out. Still in your pocket if you need anything,” he says, and gestures to Nolan’s phone on the nightstand.

Nolan makes a noise and reaches out to grab Travis’s hand as he backs away.

“Stay?” 

Travis stays. 

***

It’s just – a lot. Maybe too much, Travis figures, what with the way he can’t fall asleep and all. It’s like there’s this big empty space in the room and Travis can’t help but fill it with all these thoughts he has since it wouldn’t really do him much good to say them out loud with Patty asleep just a few inches away. 

He can’t believe he’s here – like, actually in bed with Patty. And not because he invited himself in like last time, but because Patty wanted him here. 

He can see the way Patty’s fingers curl around the edge of his blanket as he sleeps, can hear the little huffs of his breath, could reach out and touch the space between his eyes that’s usually scrunched up and tense if, you know, Travis didn’t think that was a probably crossing some sort of line. 

To be honest, Travis doesn’t know what he’s waiting for anymore. Patty basically said it, right? _I’m so lucky I get to be here with you,_ fuck. _You have no idea how much you do for me._ It can’t get much clearer than that – the ball’s in Travis’s court. He’s gotta make his play. 

He’s going to. Travis is resolved – this is happening. He’s shooting his shot. 

In the morning, that is. When Nolan’s actually awake. 

Travis sighs. Now he’s got all this extra adrenaline inside him that he can’t do anything with. He doesn’t want to wake Nolan up with all his shifting around, but if he wants to be here in the morning he can’t exactly lock the door behind him and leave. 

He gets up to walk around the apartment. He takes a piss, then walks into the living room to stare out the big floor-to-ceiling windows at the Philly skyline for the second time tonight. The view’s not so different from his own apartment – a different angle, a little further down – but it’s hard to get tired of the way the city moves and blinks, even this deep into the night. On nights like these when Travis is alone and can’t sleep, it makes him feel a little more grounded, a little more human to see the moving cars and the flashing lights of other people in the city that aren’t asleep yet. 

Travis blinks back, then looks away. He putters around til he lands on the couch. Patty has this big black coffee table in front of his sofa with a small, neat stack of large, glossy books on top. Travis would bet hard money that Patty was not the one who made that purchase. 

One of the drawers on the table is cracked just a bit. What a great place to keep a stash – Travis wonders what Nolan’s is. He wants to say porn or candy but since porn is on the internet and refined sugar doesn’t have a great relationship with Patty’s brain, he figures he’s probably wrong on both counts. 

He slides the drawer the rest of the way open to find out. 

Damn. Just normal boring drawer things – an old tube of chapstick, some pens, a notebook. Travis pulls the notebook out and flips it open to a random page. 

Ah – this must be the journaling stuff that Patty had mentioned the doctors made him do. Travis is surprised Patty actually went through with it. He rifles through a few more pages and is about to put it back in the drawer when he sees his name. 

Huh? 

He starts reading down the page. 

_  
Dec 1 migraine  
pain: 5/10   
last contact w/ TK: 74 hrs before   
duration: 8.5 hrs   
notes: TK came back from 3-day roadtrip, stopped by to check in. Symptoms went away in about 1 hr   
_

What the fuck? He gets the normal stuff - the date, the pain, but why is his name here? He flips back to earlier entries, but it’s all the same: 

_  
Nov 14 migraine  
pain: 9/10   
last contact w/ TK: 94 hrs   
duration: 29hrs   
notes: went away on its own, started abt 2 days into roadtrip. Contact w/ TK shortly after to prevent relapse   
_

There are entries that date back for the last couple months, and they all have his name in them. Contact with TK. Last saw TK. And, god, _physical touch_ with TK. One point five hours. 

So, what? Nolan’s been recording his migraines and how often he’s around Travis. Maybe it’s like when they bring puppies to college campuses during finals? Like, Nolan just likes being around him so much that it helps with the pain? Travis doesn’t know if he feels great comparing himself to a puppy, but like - 

Wait. When did this start? 

Travis flips back to the front of the journal. His heart sinks the further he goes back: November, October, September…

Nolan was hardly talking to him back then. They’d really only made their way from teammates to friends at the beginning of the season, when – 

When Nolan came back to Philly with all this migraine shit. What does –

_I’m so lucky I get to be here with you._

Oh god. 

_You have no idea how much you do for me._

How much Travis does for him. That he needs Travis around. Needs him around, not wants. 

Travis closes the notebook and quietly puts it back in the drawer it came from. He stands up, turns off the lamp illuminating the living room in soft golden light, and shuts the door behind him when he leaves.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TK POV

When Travis wakes up from the four whole hours of sleep he got last night, he has one text message from Nolan: _?_

He doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t actually know what any of this means. He basically only knows that:

  1. Nolan has been hiding this….whatever it is, the real reason he’s been spending time with Travis for months
  2. Whatever feelings he thought Nolan had for him were clearly either faked or Travis imagined them all himself (he isn’t sure which of those options is worse)
  3. He’s really fucking tired.



He’s not even sure if Nolan remembers that they fell asleep in the same bed last night, that they were supposed to wake up next to each other. 

Luckily, Travis doesn’t have much time to dwell on it – he has practice in about an hour and has to somehow convince the entire room that he’s alive, awake, and whole. 

He takes a deep breath and gets on with it. 

In the elevator on the way down to the lobby, he types out a reply. 

**sent**  
sry, practice

***

Travis decides he’s gonna have to call it a _real_ early night if he’s going to make it through tomorrow’s game unscathed. It gives him an excuse to not deal with the whole Nolan Thing tonight, and also has the added benefit of being true. 

He’s getting ready for bed when he hears a knock at the door. _Damn._

Travis keeps the door guard fastened when he opens the door. Nolan’s on the other side, of course. 

“Hey, man. What’s up?” Travis asks, trying for an even tone. 

“I, uh, just thought I’d drop by, hang out. You busy?” Nolan eyes the door guard before looking back at Travis. 

“Yeah, sorry, I –” Travis looks back into his apartment to see if he can spot a good excuse not to let Nolan in. 

But Nolan comes up with his excuse first. “ _Oh,_ you have – company. Oh. Uh, okay. No worries, enjoy yourself. I’ll just. I’ll see tomorrow?” 

“I–,” Travis starts, but Nolan’s already walking back down the hallway. “Okay.” 

He shuts the door and buries his head in his hands. He’s not sure if this is better or much, much worse. 

He’s going to go the fuck to sleep instead of spending any more time deliberating it. 

*** 

Astride the Peloton after practice the next day, Travis takes a quick, surreptitious look around before pulling out his phone and googling: 

_make someone’s migraines go away_

He finds a list of ways to “Pamper Someone Who’s Having a Migraine,” but since Travis has yet to pull out an essential oil diffuser in Nolan’s vicinity, he doubts this is the answer he’s looking for. 

_migraines disappear around someone else_

Nothing. 

Longshot, but: _migraines gone magic_

Fuck. Nothing. 

*** 

**received**  
hey, you wanna stop by before the game? I’ve got my Switch set up 

**sent**  
still at the rink, maybe next time? 

*** 

Travis is exhausted. He’d never had to dedicate headspace before to avoiding someone who both works with him and lives in the same place he does. There’s only so many ways to dodge an invite when it’s coming from 20 feet below you. 

He just – he needs time to figure this shit out. It’s obviously not going to be possible to avoid Nolan forever. He just doesn’t know what he’s going to say when he does. Doesn’t know how he’s going to hide how fucking angry he is. Travis never figured betrayal was something that real people felt outside of movies. 

And maybe, more importantly, he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to go back to the way things were. And which “were” do they even go back to? The one where he’s Nolan’s teammate, or the one where Nolan thinks Travis thinks they’re friends? 

A few more days of this and he’ll figure out the answer, probably. 

Yeah. 

*** 

**received**  
lmao bro, the new gf taking up all your time now or what?   
doctor gave me the green light for sushi, lmk if you want in on this shit 

**sent**  
babysitting for G 2nite, sorry. Gavin says hi 

Travis isn’t actually babysitting for Claude. 

He is, however, sitting in Claude’s living room, bouncing baby Gavin on his legs and cooing at his little baby face. 

From the look on Claude’s face, he’s about 25% of the way toward being trusted alone with his tiny child. Solid gains. 

“Not that I don’t love having you over,” Claude asks. “But what’s the occasion?” 

“Oh, I just needed...a change of scenery.” 

“Change of scenery? You see my face almost every day. I see your face almost every day. I see your face probably as much time as I see my son’s face.” 

“Who said I was here for you? Obviously I drove all the way out to the burbs to hang out with my best bud here. Yes I did, didn’t I, little dude?” Gavin squeals and smacks TK in the face with his tiny fist. “See, he knows what’s up.” 

“Gavin eats Cheerios off the floor. Not sure I’d vouch for his taste.” 

“Ouch, that cut deep,” Travis says. To Gavin he says, “Can you believe this shit?” 

“Yep, definitely never leaving you alone with my child. Speaking of faces I haven’t seen in awhile, though, how’s Nolan doing?” 

Fuck. “Uh, yeah, he seemed fine last time I saw him.” 

“Really?” Claude asks. “That’s good. Haven’t seen him around the rink this week.” 

Now that Travis thinks about it, he hasn’t caught him in the hallways or the gym as often either. He’d been so busy trying to avoid Nolan that he hadn’t stopped to think that maybe it shouldn’t have been as easy as it was. 

Claude continues. “I want to thank you, you know. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I know it must have been hard to get over that thing you had for him. But you’ve really shown up for him this season, and I’m glad he’s got you.” 

Oh my god. _“What?”_

“Come on, Travis.”

“What do you mean, come on? What are you talking about?” 

“TK, it’s been two years. I know a lot of people have come and gone, but I haven’t, and I’ve watched you watch him for two whole years now.” 

Travis can’t handle this. Not right now. “I don’t –” 

He cuts himself off, turns away for a second. It’s one thing for the media to pick up what they want to see, and it’s another thing for it to be his teammate. And sure, it’s just Claude, but if it’s not just Claude? If it’s anyone else, if it’s _Nolan—_

God. That would make this so much worse, and it already feels like shit. 

It’s not worth it to walk around it with G. “I can’t talk about that right now.” 

Claude gives him a considering look, but goes with it. Travis doesn’t think it’s pity but he doesn’t know what to call it either. 

“Alright, alright,” he says. “So what are you doing for Christmas?” 

*** 

Travis can’t believe he almost forgot about Christmas. 

He’s had his flights booked for weeks. His mom kept reminding him of his sworn duty as offspring to visit her for holidays: _I don’t get to have you for Thanksgiving,_ she’d told him. _If I don’t see you for Christmas I'll have to consider disowning you._ He figured she was kidding, but he wasn’t going to test the theory. 

With all this shit with Nolan going on, he might not have remembered until he got the check-in notification if G hadn’t brought it up. Man, he’s gotta pack. And _sleep._ He’s got the game tomorrow night, and then he’ll take off on one of the first flights out the next morning. 

Honestly, this is probably exactly what he needs. A break – get away from this building. Get away from Philly for a hot minute to breathe in that Ontario air. Nothing like it. 

*** 

“At this time, make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position and that your seat belt is correctly fastened….” Travis has been on enough planes in his life that the words blur into each other in a familiar cadence. 

He thumbs his phone unlocked before he switches on airplane mode to type out a message to mom: _taking off, see you soon._ As he goes to close the app, his eyes catch on the last message he got from Nolan – three days ago. 

It was just a throwaway, a nothing message. Travis didn’t reply. Nolan hasn’t followed up with anything since. Travis isn’t sure what that means. Maybe it’s all going back to normal – last season normal. 

Maybe Travis shouldn’t try to be this fuckin’ deep about a text message thread. 

“Sir, I’ll need you to put your phone away before we can take off,” the flight attendant says. 

“Oh yeah, my bad – sorry.” 

*** 

On Christmas, still in his pajamas and stuffed with pancakes as he lays on the couch, Travis finds **Patty** in his phone and sends him a message. 

**sent**  
merry christmas 

No reply. Travis figures he’s probably pretty busy with his family back in the Peg. 

*** 

Travis is waiting at the gate for his plane back to Philly when he gets a call. 

“Hello?” He walks away from the loud chatter huddled around the gate to find a quiet spot. 

“Hi, Travis? It’s Dr. Anderson.” 

“Uh, hi – sorry, did I miss a physical or something?” Travis asks. “I can make it up this week, probably?” 

“No, no, I’m actually calling about Nolan,” she says. “He’d mentioned you’re his roommate?” 

“No, we just live in the same building.” 

“Ahh. All the same – can you go by and check on him today?” Travis is just now noticing the concern in her voice. 

But that doesn’t make sense. “What do you mean? I’m not sure he’s even back from Winnipeg yet.” 

“Nolan was supposed to come in today to check in with me, but I haven’t seen him yet. I’m not too worried, but I’d feel better if someone went by.” 

“....Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stop by, no problem.” 

*** 

Travis takes the elevator up to his apartment to drop his bags off. He remembers to grab the spares he never got back to Claude off the table near his door when he walks back out. He takes the stairs two at a time, too anxious for the elevator. 

When he gets there, he knocks.

Nothing. 

He knocks again. Still no answer – maybe Dr. Anderson was wrong? Or maybe Nolan’s flight back from Manitoba got delayed. 

He keys open the door anyway. 

“Hello?” He steps through and swings the door shut behind him. All the lights are off, the late afternoon light just barely filtering in through the blinds. “Nolan?” 

He snaps on the kitchen light and walks further into the house, looking over into the living room just long enough to confirm no one’s there and not long enough to let his eyes rest on the coffee table and the drawer and what it contains. 

Feeling déjà vu from the last time he came into Nolan’s apartment uninvited – god, months ago – to find him, he heads for the bedroom. 

The door is cracked just a little bit. He swings it open. “Nolan?” 

He hears a whimper from the darkness. Oh _shit –_

His eyes adjust to the darkness, and he sees him lying there, curled in on himself, all the lines on his face drawn together toward the center like he’s trying to close himself off. 

“Patty, _fuck._ ” Travis rushes in, but hesitates as he reaches out. Is he welcome here? Does he want to be here? Does it matter? 

It doesn’t matter. Travis reaches out to brush the sweat-slicked hair back from Nolan’s forehead, but before he gets there Nolan grabs his wrist. 

Travis freezes, but Nolan’s pulling him weakly in. Travis moves with it, in toward Nolan and onto the bed. He goes with it as Nolan wraps his arms around him and starts breathing in big gusts of air. 

He stays. 

*** 

He can feel it, a little while later – the moment Nolan slips from painful consciousness to sleep. He still doesn’t get up, doesn’t want to risk disrupting whatever peace has come. 

God. He’s been so selfish. Yeah, he’s fucking hurt, but there’s a difference between Travis’s stupid heart feeling a little trampled on and the actual physical agony that Nolan’s clearly going through. How could he have not thought about that, how could he have that it could compare? 

He thinks about the times and dates in that journal, how many hours had to pass between seeing Travis and the onset of a migraine. 

He thinks about the texts he didn’t receive the last few days, and wonders if Nolan could even look at a screen. 

He thinks about Nolan telling him about his childhood – about being 13 years old and thinking that your dreams were over. About thinking you’d leaped that hurdle, only to stumble into it all over again once you’d actually made your dreams come true. About losing everything you’d fought for your whole life. 

Travis is gonna be here when he wakes up. He’ll stay all night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the penultimate chapter, y'all! Last one should be up sometime this week. Thanks for reading. 
> 
> TK POV

Nolan is still asleep when Travis gets up the next morning. He figures it’s probably been long enough that it’s safe for him to leave the room. 

He takes a whiff of himself as he walks into the kitchen. God, he still smells like airplane. Gross. 

Oh well. It’ll have to wait a little longer. 

He opens the fridge when he gets to the kitchen. What could Travis make that’s not on Nolan’s migraine list? Maybe omelettes? 

He takes out a carton of eggs, some milk and veggies. He grinds the black peppercorn and pink salt. He’s pouring the eggs into a frying pan when he hears Nolan come up behind him. 

“Hey,” Nolan says. He stops at the island and plops himself down on one of the stools, then lays his head down on top of his folded arms. 

“Hey. If you’re still tired you can go back to bed – breakfast will keep.” 

“Mmm. No, I’ve been in bed for the last four days. I don’t think I can stand the sight of my mattress again any time soon.” 

“In that case, these should be done any – wait. Did you say you’ve been in bed for _four days?”_

“Yeah, it was a pretty bad migraine.” 

“You had a migraine that bad on Christmas day? Jesus, I thought you were in Winnipeg.”

“I was supposed to fly home a couple days before, but I knew it was gonna come on too strong to fly. It’s okay, my family understood. I’ll probably fly up sometime in the next couple of weeks to make up for it.” 

“It’s okay? My god, I am so sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry? It’s not like it’s your fault.” 

“I –” Travis cuts off. Wouldn’t help to let Nolan know that he knows at this point. “Still. Someone should have been here for you.” 

“It’s okay, man, I understand. Between your new girl and your family, you’re busy – I get it.” 

Wow, Travis forgot all about that part. “Yeah, about that – there is no new girl.” 

“Damn, that’s over already?” Nolan asks. “Or was it just a casual thing?” 

“No, there wasn’t ever actually –” 

“You sure those eggs aren’t burning, man?” 

“Shit!” 

***

Travis has practice and a game that night, so he peaces out pretty quickly after they’ve finished the salvaged remains of Travis’s attempt at an omelette. 

He stops at the door and looks back at Nolan. “Oh, hey – you should probably call the doctor. She seemed worried you’d missed your last appointment.” 

He hears Nolan breathe out sharply through his nose, like he’s trying to hold back a sigh. “Yeah, thanks. Will do.” 

*** 

Travis and Patty are back in the gym together sometime a few days later, after Patty has ostensibly reconciled with his mattress and actually caught up on some quality sleep. Travis can still see the places in his body where the lethargy dug in a little deeper, how it’s slowing Patty down just enough to be noticeable. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks Patty between sets as he spots him on the bench. He’s not really expecting an answer – Patty has been cagey about that kind of question for months, has bitched out the media for it even. Travis can’t help but feel like he’s owed the answer now, though. Feels that way enough that he’s going to ask anyway. 

Patty surprises him: “Better. Yeah.” He’s quiet again, and Travis figures he’ll move onto the next set, but he levers himself up and turns to look at Travis instead. “Thanks, by the way. For coming by and checking on me. You know, again.” 

“Of course, it’s no problem,” Travis says. “It looked pretty bad. I was a bit worried when you didn’t come to the door.” 

Nolan huffs. “Yeah, it sucked. It hasn’t been that bad in weeks, and I just – I was _so close.”_

“Close?” 

“I’d been talking with the doctors, and they were just about ready to put me in a no-contact jersey for practices, and now – god, I feel like I’m back at square one.” 

Travis doesn’t know how to respond to that without responding to the rest of it, the parts he’s not supposed to know. He thinks, now, to the conversation they had in this same room a few weeks back – Travis seeing Patty’s progress and asking him when he’s coming back, and Patty responding: _as soon as I can._

Health was never the only thing on the line here. 

Eventually, Travis says, “You know the Flyers aren’t going to fill your spot, right? You know you’re still on the team. You don’t have to play a game this season for it to stay that way.” 

“You have literally nothing to prove that.” 

“You’re one of the best players in the game, Nolan. Did they deal away Toews when he was out with a concussion? Or Crosby?” 

“Come on, TK, you know the only reason the names you’re bringing up aren’t out of my league is because we literally play in the same league. There’s no comparison.” 

“Only because you haven’t had a chance to prove yourself,” Travis counters. 

“And what if I don’t have the chance!” 

Some of the other guys in the gym are starting to look their way. Patty looks down before he speaks again, tone lower. “You, the doctors, my mom – everyone. You all keep telling me that _trying_ to come back will only hurt me longer in the end, that somehow working for it is just going to make it worse.” 

“I feel like I’d at least listen to the doctors, man. They know what they’re doing.” 

“Okay, but have any of you ever considered what it’s like to live life like that? With no goals, nothing to _work_ towards? When I can see everyone else running ahead of me, getting what’s theirs, and – and what? I’m not even supposed to run in place? I’m just supposed to wait and hope that the ground carries me there all on its own?” 

Travis reaches out a hand to Nolan and waits for him to take it. He does, and Travis pulls him up into a standing position and looks him in the eye before letting go again. “You’re getting better. You know you are. And I’ll do everything I can to help, okay?” 

Now that he’s looking for it, Travis can see what Nolan’s holding back when he hears those words. But Nolan nods, looks away again. 

“Okay,” Travis says again. “Now switch out with me, it’s my turn.” 

“Yeah, you’re lucky I can’t lift as much right now,” Patty says. “Must be nice not to have to take half the weight off.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Travis says and rolls his eyes. He shoves Patty over before taking the bench. 

Travis falls back into the rhythm of it, lets the mindlessness of the process wash over him as Nolan counts out his reps. He thinks for a moment that he sees Nolan’s eyes catch on the sweat shining on his deltoids but dismisses it. It’s past time for TK to come to terms with the fact that projection gets him nowhere. 

*** 

Travis figures that Nolan is probably trying to prove some point to the medical staff that he’s ready to get back to work – that one setback didn’t mean anything, and that he can still take his place on the roster by the time playoffs roll around. 

Travis figures this because there are hardly ever two days in a row after that where Travis doesn’t see Patty, unless Travis is off in some other part of the continent. 

Patty will text him and they’ll go out or stay in or work out, and every now and again he’ll even convince the doctors to let him on the ice and he’ll drag Travis out there with him while he practices shots and gets back up to speed. 

Travis knows the migraine stuff is all based on time—how much they’re spending together and how much they’re spending apart—but he has the feeling Nolan’s still trying to strike the right balance: some perfect medium between how often he has to deal with having Travis around and how long he can reliably go without having a migraine. Travis won’t be surprised when the gaps between them seeing each other start to grow wider again as Nolan gets the timing down. 

There’s no doubt that not everything about this whole thing was written down in that notebook Travis found, but that part was clear enough to understand. 

And in the meantime he’ll come when he’s asked to. 

*** 

By late February it’s looking like Philly has a pretty good shot at a spot in the playoffs, and Travis can see the pent up energy in Nolan start to brim. Nolan usually works out his angst with as much cardio as he’s permitted to do, but sometimes it’s like this: the two of them, sitting on the couch in Nolan’s living room, watching tape from the most recent Pens-Caps game and trying to spot any weakness they can exploit. 

“Did you see–” Travis starts. 

“Bäckström’s pass there? Yeah.”

“They did the same thing in the first period.” 

“When do we – when do you play them next?” 

“The Caps? Next week I think.” 

They’ve been at it for a few hours – this is the third game they’ve started up today, and it’s starting to get late enough that Travis maybe ought to think about walking back up to his place. Patty is still real deep into it, though, and looking a little better than he has all week. Travis’ll give it a few more minutes. 

He must have faded out, though, because the next time he blinks his eyes open, the TV is off and Patty’s hand is curled around his ankle. 

Travis lets his eyes fall most of the way shut again, only open wide enough that he can see the way that Nolan’s face is lit up with the light from his phone and the lamp on the end table beside him – the one next to Travis has been turned off. Patty keeps his hand on Travis as he scrolls idly through his phone, until a timer goes off in the kitchen and he stands up to go take care of it. 

Once he’s left the room, Travis quickly slides the drawer open and pulls out the notebook. He leafs through it until he finds the entry he remembered: 

_  
October 20  
physical contact w/ TK 22 min  
_

He doesn’t get any farther than that – has to throw it back into the drawer fast when he hears Nolan coming back from the kitchen. He leans back on the kitchen and feigns like he’s just waking up. 

“Hey, welcome back,” Nolan says. “Hungry?” He extends the plate out to Travis.

“Nah, I’m alright. Think I’m gonna head back up.” 

“Alright, man. See you tomorrow at the rink?” 

“Course.” 

And god, Travis has come to terms with his part in the rest of this, but he’s honestly not sure he can handle it if this is what comes next – Nolan touching him like it means something when Travis knows it doesn’t. 

He sighs as the elevator doors close behind him. 

*** 

It’s not until he’s in his bed that another thought hits him: is it possible that Nolan knows how Travis feels? Claude hasn’t brought it up again since, but it’s not like Travis has just forgotten that conversation – he never got confirmation whether anyone else knew, but if Claude could figure it out of course Nolan could. 

And if he knows, and he’s scared that Travis might ghost him again like he did before Christmas, what if he’s doing it on purpose? To try and, what, trap Travis in some fantasy version of reality where all the things Travis thought would happen before he found the notebook actually come true? 

What is Travis gonna do? 

*** 

When it all comes to a head, Travis can’t say he didn’t see it coming. 

Nolan’s invited him over for dinner, tells him to let himself in with the spares he’s still hanging onto. 

When Travis gets there, he finds Nolan in the kitchen, a familiar set of ingredients spread out on the counter. 

“Hey!” Nolan tosses out as he chops up the onion in front of him. 

“Hey, uh, do you need any help there?” Travis asks. 

“Listen, I know I was a pretty bad cook, but you’ve trained me up okay – I think I can handle making some soup,” he says. “Go ahead and take a seat.” 

“Alright, alright,” Travis says. “Why česnečka?” 

“I don’t know. You’ve been there for me a lot for me lately, when it’s been rough. It’s been really nice to have someone in my corner, and… I just wanted to do something to say thanks, you know? And this is one of the first things you taught me to make, so.” 

Huh. “Okay then. Thanks, I guess.” 

“Don’t think you’re supposed to thank someone who’s making you thank you soup.” 

Travis laughs. “Guess not.”

The kitchen smells amazing once Nolan gets started on the garlic. They keep up a steady chatter until it’s finished and Nolan slides a bowl across to him. 

“Bon appetite,” Patty says. 

“I’m kind of offended on behalf of Canada that you really think it’s pronounced like that.” 

“Yeah, how’s it supposed to be pronounced then?” 

“I’m not gonna tell you that either.” 

“Okay, yeah, I’m sure the standards for French are much higher in _Clachan, Ontario._ ” 

“You’re really dissing my hometown right now?” Travis laughs. 

“Not sure there’s much there to diss, TK.” 

“Wow.” 

Nolan walks around the island and slides up onto the stool next to him. Travis feels him readjust himself until his left leg rests against Travis’s right. “I made you soup, no complaints.” 

“Not sure that’s a fair deal,” Travis says as he moves his own legs out of the way. 

When they’re both finished, Patty reaches out for Travis’s bowl to take back to the sink. His hand lingers on Travis’s fingers for just a moment longer than Travis expects when he passes the bowl over. 

“You wanna stick around for a bit?” Nolan asks when he comes back around to sit down. 

“I think I’m actually—” 

“Hold on, you’ve got an eyelash,” Nolan cuts in. He reaches out to drag a thumb across Travis’s cheek. 

Travis jerks back so hard he almost falls off the stool. “No – no, _stop.”_

He watches as Nolan’s eyes go wide. “Stop what?” 

“Stop this! Stop touching me, stop pretending these stools are always this close together, stop making my favorite foods, just _stop.”_

“Travis, I’m sorry, I won’t –” 

“Won’t what? Won’t touch me? Won’t use me? Won’t treat me like I’m a pill in a bottle?” 

Nolan’s face goes blank. “What?” 

“I get it, okay! I get it, the migraines are awful, and you don’t deserve them, and we need you back on the ice, but I can’t do this.” 

“Travis, what are you talking about?” Nolan is starting to look panicked.

“I know, okay? I know why you keep me around, and I know why you keep touching me. I saw the notebook, and – and I understand! I wanna be here for you, but I can’t _do this.”_

With that, Travis takes off for the door. 

“Travis. Teeks, wait!” 

He shuts the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're here! You're at the end. And it's a long one, y'all. I realized at a certain point that it maybe should have been two chapters, but I went pretty long between updates so you're getting the whole thing. Hope you like it! 
> 
> CW: The pandemic comes up at the very end of this chapter; if that's something you're looking to avoid any mention of, just stop reading when you get to the epilogue. Your reading experience will not be too adversely affected. /// CW: suicide is brought up in conversation at one point in the middle of the chapter, but none of the characters are suicidal. 
> 
> TK POV

One of the downsides to coming into hockey so young the way Travis did: he may only be 22, but he’s a goddamn adult with a goddamn adult job. There’s no slack given for being a complete wreck, and he can’t just skip because he feels like shit. 

So he’s still at the arena for games, still on the plane for road trips, and – worst of all – still at the rink for practices. The same rink where it feels like Nolan is haunting every corner. Travis tries not to give in to any doubletakes. 

After a few days pass and Nolan doesn’t actually come barreling into him from around any corners, Travis starts to drop his guard. It’s when he’s pulling his sweat-soaked shirt off after practice that Travis notices the notebook in his locker – tucked to the side where no one else would have seen it and gotten curious, but obvious enough that Travis could tell right off that things had been moved. He sees a yellow sticky note slapped on top that just says: 

_This is yours now. Flip to the end._

He sighs. Not going to get into this here, obviously. He stuffs the notebook into his gym bag and heads for the door. 

When he gets home he thinks about throwing it away. Then he thinks about going to bed. He’s got a home game tonight, but there’s no reason he can’t take a four-hour nap instead of the normal one-hour. 

Finally, he picks it up. He peels off the post-it note and crumples it. _This is yours now._ Why would Nolan think he’d want it? What could Travis possibly do with this? 

He follows the post-it’s directions anyway. When he flips through the notebook to where the ink ends, he sees that the last pages aren’t filled with notes about TK, or about anything relating to migraines at all. Instead, the page is filled with row after row of Nolan’s messy scrawl. The first line starts: _Dear Travis—_

_Don’t worry. I’m not going to try to win you over here. You made it clear that’s not what you want, and I don’t want to force you into anything._

_I fucked up. I really don’t know how to say I’m sorry. I’m gonna try to anyway._

_I don’t think I can do this without telling the whole story? If this comes off like I’m making excuses or trying to justify what I did, trust me – I know there’s no excuse big enough to matter, and that’s not what I’m trying to do here._

_But I’m going to start at the beginning. When the migraines started coming back I didn’t know what to do except ignore them, and that only worked until they were so bad I couldn’t bear it. Coming back to Philly felt like trying to trick fate – like if I was here and ready to play then there was less standing between me and my actual life. I wasn’t lying when I said that the Flyers wanted me to stay here for treatment, but it’s something I could have negotiated and didn’t. I wanted to pretend that my everything was okay, and staying bedridden in my parents’ house felt like giving in or giving up._

_And then you showed up. And you kept showing up. For a little bit I didn’t realize what was happening. When I pieced it together it felt like you were – a godsend. I was in pain all the time and being told I might never play again, and so...I leaned into it. I used your friendship to make myself feel better._

_Obviously, you weren’t ever supposed to find out. I guess it doesn’t matter when you did, but if I’m thinking back now it was probably around Christmas? You don’t have to tell me if I’m right. I doubt we’ll be speaking much after this anyway. But it makes sense looking back that you’d have pulled away after that. What I don’t get is why you came back._

_Anyway, I’ve got one more thing to apologize for, and this one I can’t even blame on the migraines even if I thought that would mean anything. I feel so stupid for getting it all wrong - for thinking that there was a possibility that you were as into me as I was….you know. Knowing now that you were only here for me because you felt like you had to me it makes me feel sick. I’d say I’m sorry if I ever made you feel uncomfortable, but I’d be stupid to think there’s a chance I haven’t, so I’ll just say sorry and leave it at that._

_So that’s it. I’m not gonna ask for forgiveness, but I do want to say thank you. For the last few months. I think when I look back I’ll be glad to have had this for a while before I came to terms with reality. But in the end it’s not fair to the flyers and especially to you to pretend that this is going to work out. So if it’s any consolation at all, I promise you won’t have to deal with this ever again._

_Love,  
Nolan  
_

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck. Travis’s eyes want to catch on the word “love”, but he tears himself away. He doesn’t have time to process that, because – what the hell does Nolan mean, he won’t have to deal with it again? 

Scratch that, Travis knows what it means. And he’s gotta find Nolan before he does something stupid, like destroy his whole damn life. 

*** 

“Patty,” Travis shouts, banging on his door. “Patty, open the fuck up!” 

When no one comes to the door, he pulls out the spare keys he remembered to snag on his way down and levers the door open himself. 

“Nolan, where are you?” 

Still no answer. He walks through the house – peeks into the bathroom, the bedroom, and even the closet. Nothing. Fuck. 

That means he’s probably already at the rink. 

Travis actually has a game tonight, and not that much time before he’s supposed to be at the rink anyway, so he’ll have to suit up before he leaves. He rushes through it and then back down to his car. 

When he gets down to his car he calls Nolan and gets no answer. “Patty, whatever the hell you’re about to do, just – wait,” he says into the answering machine. He backs out of the call and then immediately calls Hayesy as he climbs into the cab of his truck and plugs his keys into the ignition. 

“Hello?” he answers. 

“Hey, Kevin – have you heard from Nolan?” 

“Yeah? I mean, no, I haven’t talked to him, but I saw him a little while ago. Why? You sound a little rough there, bud.” 

“Where are you?”

“At the rink?” he says. “I needed to meet with AV before the game.” 

Dammit. “Listen, I’ve gotta go now, but if you see Nolan, just – stop him.”

“Stop him….from what?” 

“Just, like, keep him busy, okay?”

“O...kay? I don’t know what’s going on, but if –”

“I seriously have to go now,” Travis cuts him off. “I’ll explain later,” he says and hangs up. 

*** 

When Travis gets to the arena it’s still mostly empty – fans won’t start showing up for a couple hours yet, but there are some of the set-up crew milling around, doing their jobs. 

He charges through the building past all of them as quickly as he can til he gets to the space in the arena generally used for admin, laid out with a boardroom across from one of the boxes that overlooks the ice. 

He runs into Chuck in the hallway, almost literally. 

“Whoa, there, Travis.” He reaches a hand out to Travis’s shoulder to steady him. “Where are you headed in a rush?” 

“Nothing – I, uh – nowhere. Wait, hey, have you seen Nolan?” 

“No, I don’t think so. Was he supposed to be watching from the box tonight? That’s great.” 

“Yeah, it’s great,” Travis repeats. That’s great. That must mean Travis got here before Nolan did.

“If you see him, Travis,” Chuck starts. He doesn’t meet Travis’s eyes. “Tell him I’ll ask PR to take it easy on him tonight? I know he’s been working hard.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah – sure. I will.” 

“See you out there later.” 

“Of course.” He pats Travis’s shoulder again and then walks off. 

Travis stays put – he doesn’t know where to go now. If Nolan isn’t up here, then he has no idea where to start. 

He’s lost the adrenaline that pushed him out the door of his apartment after that conversation with Chuck, but he’s betting Nolan’s still in the building somewhere and likely not just staying to see the game. 

He darts around restricted sections of Wells Fargo with his eyes peeled. He peers in on the marketing team as sneakily as he can without risking getting flagged down. He heads down to the locker room and even ducks into the showers. 

He doesn’t find Nolan in the locker room, but as he’s scanning the room one last time before he leaves, he sees a pair of familiar Vans kicked off underneath the bench where Nolan’s jersey would be hanging if he were in the line-up tonight. Ah. 

Travis follows his instincts and slides off his black oxfords, grabbing his skates from the shelf above his own jersey. He’s gonna look like a real dumbass out there with a suit and skates on, but he’s hoping none of the media have shown up yet. Not like he wouldn’t go out there anyway if they were, he supposes. 

He treads through the tunnel and stops at the mouth of the entrance, sweeping his eyes across the rink and empty stands. 

He finds Nolan gliding across the redline at center ice. Travis taps the glass twice and Nolan looks over. 

Nolan looks caught, but he stays where he is. Travis skates up. 

When he gets close enough to be heard, he says, “I bet the ice crew hate your guts.” 

Nolan nods. “Yeah, Craig’s already come out to glare at me twice.” 

“Craig?”

“The zamboni guy.” 

“Oh. Is he –” 

“The one that looks like he could bench press JVR? Yep.” 

“Yikes.” It falls quiet. 

“Travis, what are you doing out here?” Nolan asks. 

“I mean technically, you were here first – no, don’t cut me off,” Travis interjects when Nolan opens his mouth. “What are _you_ doing here, Nolan? What the fuck are you doing?” 

Nolan had looked away when Travis raised his voice, but he looks back now. “You read it, right?” 

“You mean your damn suicide note? _Yes,_ I read it.” 

“It wasn’t a suicide note. And that means you know why I’m here, so I don’t know why you’re standing there like you don’t understand. I don’t know why you’re here at all.” 

“I _don’t_ understand. Why would you give up just like that?” 

“Give up – Travis, there’s no other choice!” 

“So you thought, what, you’d take one last spin on home ice and then call it quits for good? That’s seriously what you’re doing right now?” 

Nolan looks down to where the blades of his skates are still cutting into the ice. “I know I don’t deserve a lot here, but I deserve to say goodbye.” 

_“No,_ you don’t –” Travis cuts off when he sees the zamboni guy – Craig, he guesses – peer out from one of the tunnels. Right. This probably isn’t the best place for this conversation. “Come with me.” 

Travis can hear the breath leave Nolan in a gust, but he follows anyway. Travis tugs Nolan back through the Flyers’ locker room and into a storage room where it’s unlikely anyone would stumble in on them in the next hour or so. 

When they get there, he pushes Nolan’s back against the door. “You _do not deserve_ to have to say goodbye.” 

“Travis, what the hell else am I supposed to do? You know! I’m not getting better anytime soon, not without you, and I’m not gonna make you go through this with me.” 

“You think you forced me into this?” Travis asks. 

“I know I did, and you know I did.” 

“You think I’ve been here for you for months? I’ve been here for you for _years,_ Nolan. You didn’t trick me into fucking caring about you – all you did was make it harder.” 

“You’re proving my point!” 

“It was harder and I’m _still here!”_

“Why? Why – after what I did, why the hell would you track me down here?” 

“Because I love you!” 

Nolan’s eyes go wide, but he stays quiet. 

“So if you’re going to ruin your career and your life, it’s not going to be because of me, okay?” 

“That doesn’t make any sense, Travis. You said you didn’t want me to touch you. You ran out.” 

God, this is humiliating. “I didn’t want you to touch me because I wanted you to mean it. I didn’t want you pretending you did just to feel better.” Travis looks away. 

“But I wasn’t.” 

Travis’s eyes dart back up. “Wasn’t what?” 

“I wasn’t pretending.” 

Now it’s Travis’s turn to stay silent. He doesn’t say a word as Nolan looks at him. He doesn’t say a word as Nolan reaches out toward him. He doesn’t say a word as Nolan leans down and their lips touch. 

Travis feels it acutely, each bit of space on his body that Nolan is touching: his right cheek, his left hip, his lips. The two little spots where Nolan’s knees are bumping into his. 

He can also feel all the weight he’s been carrying since Christmas – the secret he’s kept from Nolan to save Nolan’s pride, the knowledge that he’d always be exactly what Nolan needed but never what he wanted, the burden of trying not to show how much he cared – lift off his chest just a bit. Not all the way, but enough so that he can breathe for what feels like the first time in weeks, and breathe in Nolan who’s right here in his arms. 

Nolan slides his hand down from Travis’s cheek to the back of his neck, tugging him in closer with the hand on his hip. His lips move against Travis’s and Travis falls into the give and take. 

They break apart at the sound of chatter in the hallway outside. 

Right. There’s still a game tonight. 

They both stare at each other for a few moments. Eventually, Nolan takes his hand off of Travis’s hip and steps back. 

“This conversation isn’t over,” Travis says. 

“I know it isn’t. This doesn’t fix anything.” 

Travis closes his eyes and breathes out hard. “Just. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid today, okay? Wait until after we’ve had a chance to talk.” 

When he opens his eyes again, he sees Nolan nod, reluctant. “Okay. I guess you should get ready for the game.” 

“Right.” 

Travis heads for the door, nearly tripping when he forgets for a second that he still has blades strapped to his feet. He opens the door and steps out before looking back to say, “Oh hey – Chuck maybe thinks you’re coming to watch the game from the box tonight. You’ve got time to go home and put a suit on if you want to do that.” 

Nolan’s arms are crossed, wrapped around his body, but he doesn’t say no. 

***

“What….the fuck are you wearing?” G asks when he catches him on the way to the locker room.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Travis says. “I’m camera-ready.” 

*** 

Travis scores his second goal of the night in the third period and as the goal horn blasts and his teammates come crushing in, he looks up at the box Nolan would be in if he came and sees him standing there and staring back. It’s not until he sees Nolan give him a nod that he breaks away and embraces the celly around him. 

*** 

Nolan’s gone by the time Travis is done for the night, but luckily he knows where Nolan lives. It’s only around 10:30 when he knocks on his door. 

This time, he gets an answer. Nolan opens the door and lets Travis in wordlessly. Travis goes to sit on the couch in front of the drawer he never should have opened. Once Nolan joins him, he pulls out of his hoodie pocket the journal that he never should have read. 

“You can keep this. I don’t want it,” he says as he offers it out to Nolan. 

“That’s fine,” Nolan says. “You can throw it in the trash if you want. I only wanted you to have it so you’d have the truth.” 

“I have the truth now, and there’s nothing else in there that I need to know.” 

“You read through the whole thing?” 

“Enough of it to know what I need to know.” 

“Then why are you still here?” Nolan asks. 

Travis shrugs. “When I came back after the game, I went up to change and grab this to bring it back to you anyway. I didn’t know if there was something in here you might need again. But when I opened it and went back to the end to reread your letter, I saw – you haven’t written anything in here in months. You stopped, didn’t you? After Christmas?” 

Nolan nods after a second, then shakes his head. “I stopped writing it down, Travis, but it’s not like I stopped using you.” 

“I think the difference means more than you think it does.” He reaches out and grabs Nolan’s hand. 

Nolan looks into his eyes for a long moment before he pulls away sharply and buries his head in his hands. “It doesn’t matter what you say, TK, this isn’t going to work – me being around you, it’s – it’s _parasitic.”_

“It’s not like you’re drinking my blood, Pats.” 

“But there will always be something you give me that I can’t give back, and I’ll always be using you.” 

Travis sits back heavily against the sofa and breathes out hard. It’s quiet for awhile, but finally he says: “I think you’re right. I mean, I don’t think you’re a parasite, but I am still hurt. It sucked, you know, figuring out the reason why you kept asking me around, and it sucked knowing that you were lying to me. But the worst part of it was realizing that I’d completely made up this love story in my head – I was gonna tell you, you know? The night that I found this stupid thing I’d made up my mind. I was gonna tell you.” 

He looks over at Nolan, who’s got his arms wrapped around himself again. 

“So yeah, I’m still hurt. And I’ll need time to get over it. Don’t think I’m sitting here because I’ve just forgiven you for everything you did. That’s not what happened.” 

He reaches out and grabs one of the wrists Nolan’s got curled so closely into himself. “But I will eventually forgive you. If you don’t walk away, that is. If you stay here – with the Flyers, with me – and give me time, and try and get better, I promise I can forgive you some day.” 

He watches as the lines between Nolan’s eyebrows smooth out and his shoulders drop as he relaxes and resolves himself. He waits out the quiet until Nolan speaks. 

“I’m going home,” Nolan says. _“Wait –”_ he shouts when Travis’s face drops, reaching back for the hand that Travis had tugged away. “I’m going home, but just for a little while, okay?” 

Travis nods, slowly. 

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Nolan says. “Even if I quit hockey, it’s not like I’d want to live in pain for the rest of my life, you know? And I started thinking – maybe...maybe feeling better kind of made me feel worse in the end?” 

“What do you mean?” Travis asks. 

“Like, the doctors and the trainers who were trying to help me – they had nothing really to go off of. They thought I was getting better because of the things they were taking out of my diet or because of changes they asked me to make to my lifestyle, but it was really all you. So I don’t actually know what it is that’s causing it, and neither do they.” 

“Oh.” 

“And I think if I went home and started over, it might be easier.” 

“But wouldn’t it be easier for me to just be here with you?”

“I don’t want that. Or like, I don’t want to need that.” Nolan looks down at him. “That makes sense, right? It’s better for me. It’s better for you.” 

Travis takes a deep breath in. “Okay. So. When are you going home?” 

“As soon as I talk to Chuck and AV.” 

“But you’re not quitting, right?” Travis checks. 

“No. I’ll come back. Or at least, I’ll try to.” 

“Okay,” Travis says. “Okay. Promise you’ll text me?”

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Promise you’ll call me if it gets too bad,” Travis adds. Nolan doesn’t reply. “I’m serious. I’m not gonna sit around doing nothing if you’re a thousand miles away and you hurt so much you can’t get out of bed, okay? I’ve seen it.” 

“I promise I’ll let you know if it gets that bad.” 

Travis sighs. “I guess that’s as much as I’ll ask for. I should probably go. Oh, uh, here,” Travis says, and pulls out his keychain. He slides the keys around until he finds the one he’s looking for. “I’m not sure if you want this back or not.” 

“Uh, yeah, no – keep it. You can keep it.” 

Travis smiles. “Okay.” He stands up and goes to the door. 

Before he steps through, Nolan grabs his wrist and he turns around. He raises his eyebrows in question. 

Nolan bends down and brushes his lips across Travis’s cheek. “Win me a Stanley Cup, TK,” he says, and pulls away. 

Travis smiles. “I’ll do my best.” 

*** 

*** 

#### Epilogue

Travis doesn’t win Patty a Stanley Cup. Travis doesn’t even have a chance. Instead, Travis is trapped inside his family’s house in Ontario waiting out a pandemic with everyone else. At least he can still text Patty. 

**sent**  
you know, honestly this I think this pandemic is working in your favor and I’m a little jealous 

**received**  
dumbass 

**received**  
I am also stuck inside just like everyone else 

**sent**  
okay yeah, but like you’re not missing as many games as you would have

 **sent**  
think about it, you might be ready to come back by the time playoffs actually happen 

**received**  
travis

 **sent**  
what? I’m just being an optimist

 **received**  
I’m not sure that’s what anyone else would call it 

**sent**  
how are you feeling btw? 

**received**  
pretty good? no pain today 

**sent**  
good :) 

**sent**  
wanna call later then? if you’re still feeling alright

 **received**  
sure

 **sent**  
<3

 **received**  
<3 <3 

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming along for the journey! It's been a very informative experience writing fanfiction for the first time and posting it on the web for everyone to read. Do let me know what you thought! And I appreciate all the comments that have been left. They made it much easier to keep writing. 
> 
> I'll probably come back through at some point and try and make some of the formatting more consistent, so if you notice any typos or formatting issues gone awry, drop me a note. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and stay safe out there <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to connect - you can find me on tumblr @ [cisumox](https://cisumox.tumblr.com)


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